Together - The 71st Hunger Games
by MagicPigPerson
Summary: You know what they say. May the odds be ever in your favor and all of that rubbish. But Willow Darkhood decides that a new slogan should be given to the Hunger Games when she and her brother Jerome both get reaped for it. Something like: 'Why are you doing this to poor innocent children stop now.' That would fit. See their adventures in the 71st Hunger Games. {Rated T for language}
1. The Reaping

When I wake up on the cold stone floor, I'm momentarily confused as to why I can't see Jerome, waiting for me to get up, smiling down at me. Then I remember. Today is reaping day.

I let Jerome have the bed, of course. Being older, I gritted it out on the floor with a blanket as he got mattress, duvet and all. Now I'm starting to wish we owned three beds.

I lift myself up off the floor (which does take time) and slip a jacket over shirt. My leather boots at this point have molded to my feet, so I just tuck the laces inside them for now. Before I leave, I scribble a quick note to my father on a piece of paper.

 _Out getting food. Don't worry about us. We have our good clothes on; be ready for this afternoon._

I purposely put 'this afternoon' instead of 'the Reaping', because I know it'll just worry him more. Grabbing a stack of playing cards left on the counter, I head out to the Hob. Magic, the thing that keeps me alive and sane in Hell, more commonly known as District 12. Sounds crazy, but it works, trust me.

Sure enough, when I get to the Hob, Jerome's already there. I watch him crouch low so he cannot be seen, waits for a Peacekeeper to pass, then hey presto. He now has some coins sitting in his palms, and the Peacekeeper's pocket is lighter than it was before. He's an amazing pick-pocket; the Peacekeeper doesn't notice a thing. Half the time I'll wonder where a specific card has gone in my pack, only to see him cheekily turning it in his hand, a wide smile playing on his lips.

Jerome is my younger brother. He was born with slight of hand, so pick-pocketing came naturally for him. He looks out of place in the Seam, with his blue eyes and dark brown hair that falls in front of said eyes with ease. His only problem is what I like to call 'sort-ass syndrome'. He's the shortest 15 year-old in the school. Whereas I, being the tallest 16 year-old, have what he refers to as 'tall-ass syndrome'. If he wasn't my brother, my fist and his face would have become the best of friends. I think the feeling's mutual, even though I'm a year older. Which sucks.

The only way you can tell we're siblings is that we have the same bright blue eyes. We stand out when surrounded by other people, because the grey Seam eyes are the norm in District 12. I even have the bog-standard black hair of the Seam, not technically long, but not short either.

He approaches me, that same cheeky grin etched on his face whenever he's swiped someone of their possessions. He loves the adrenaline, the feeling of power of owning something that isn't his, the knowledge that he'll never get caught. Which is true, I'm the only person (not including our father) who knows about his abilities, and I'm the only one with fast enough reactions to catch him in the act.

"Hey," he says when he reaches me. Typical Seam greeting. _Hey_.

"Hey," is my answer. I raise an eyebrow when his hand goes in his pocket, and I hear the tinkling of coins against coins.

"3 swipes today. I guess the Peacekeepers are saving their energy for the Reaping," he sighs, "Worried?"

I scoff. "You wish." The truth is, I _am_ worried, but more for him than me. He's not what you'd call 'active', seeing as we live in the Seam.

He looks at me. Contemplates me. I know that look anywhere. He's trying to see though me, but it's not going to work. I've had practice at covering myself up with a fictional mask, I've got good enough to hide my emotions so even he can't see them. After a while, he gives up. "I'll never understand you, you know."

"That's the whole point," I reply. I can tell by his facial expression that he doesn't know whether I mean the Games or my personality. I give him no nudge in the right direction, either. I can leave him to ponder that for himself. I pull out the cards that I stowed in my pocket, and start practicing. Jerome eyes my small party tricks with interest. He wants to learn, but I think covering as much ground as possible will get us more cash. You find a way to earn money or you die in District 12, there's no alternative.

There's an awkward silence between the two of us for a moment, then Jerome breaks his gaze. "This… I can't do this, Willow. I… I just _can't…_ "

I consider putting my hand around him, to comfort him, but the idea's gone as soon as it came. There was never much of that between us. We weren't really like that. We were… different. "Look, Jerome, I don't want to do it either, okay? Nobody wants to. It's not right," I hardly ever open up like this, so I try my best, "it's those idiots at the Capitol we have to hate. We were forced into this… mess of a life. We just have to make do and bless the great lord that we're here, alive and well." _Not well,_ says a tiny voice at the back of my mind. I push it away with difficulty.

People are pushing us out of the way. I was so rapped in my own mind that I didn't notice the time. It's time for the Reaping.

I start walking automatically, and Jerome jogs up to me, then matches my pace. We walk quietly for a few minutes, but then Jerome turns to me, "Look, if we don't both get out of the Reaping…"

I hold up my hand to stop him speaking, "No, we will both make it out. We'll be fine."

"But…"

" _No_ , Jerome. We'll be okay."

We walk the rest of the way in silence.

I hardly notice being pricked in the finger. I hardly notice being herded into the pen. I hardly notice the betters and other parents looking at the kids like you would an animal which was about to go to the slaughtering house.

I only noticed Jerome.

I said to myself I wasn't going to worry about him. That the 6 slips with his name on them meant nothing. That the _20_ slips with _my_ name on them meant naught. But, of course, when did my brain ever listen? Never, I tell you.

Nobody really pays attention to the Mayor when he reads out what brought us the Hunger Games today. Why, for 71 years this year, 24 innocent kids were to fight to the death for the Capitol's amusement. The only thing that catches my eye is that Haymitch looks slightly more drunk than he usually is, if that's possible. I start to wonder how he got onto the stage without a signpost when Effie Trinket hops onto the stage. It's impossible to not think of a bright pink bunny rabbit. She hastily straightens her wig before announcing the words I hate most in the accent I hate most: "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

"Now, ladies first, shall we?" Her hand plunges into the silver ball as she rummages around and pulls out a slip. After fumbling with it for a moment, she unfolds it and reads the name there.

"Willow Darkhood,"

I gulp. _Crap. That's my name. Oh crap. Take it easy now, Willow, one step at a time…_

I make my way up to the stage, sneaking a look at the crowd as I walked. It's the children's' faces that burn into my mind; there's enough realization on them to tell that they recognize me. Not by name, no. But I'm the girl with the pretty magic tricks. The one that can help them escape Hell, if only for a couple seconds.

I don't realize that I'm still walking until I'm up on stage, staring blankly at the crowd. Oh, what I would give to still be down there, feeling pity for the poor sap that would have to go and fight to the death, never to return. But, of course, the odds don't seem to be in my favor for the time being. Me and the odds have never really gotten along well together.

Effie has a go at breaking the silence, "Now, for the boys, everyone!" Once again, her hand enters the glass ball, struggling for a minute, until…

"Jerome Darkhood,"

I don't think. I don't feel. I'm too dead inside to house thoughts and emotions right now.


	2. The Stylist

I stare as he makes his way to the stage. So does the rest of District 12; utter silence has fallen. Even those who do not care about the other children wear looks of utter anger on their faces. Anger at the Capitol, anger at the Hunger Games in general, anger at themselves for not doing anything to stop this madness.

He's here. Standing beside me. This is real. I'm not going to wake up.

I'll never have the chance to wake up now.

Even Effie looks sorry for us, and soon her friends are going to be betting on whether or not we'll survive the bloodbath. She bends into the microphone and asks for volunteers, but, of course nobody steps forward. All of them down there, they're thinking the same thing: _Better you than me._

Before I have gathered everything that's fighting for attention in my mind, we have been ushered into the Justice Building by the Peacekeepers. There's a slight confusion as to our separation, but the Head Peacekeeper steps forward, "They're having the worst afternoon of their bloody lives! Give them some leverage. Put them together." I say a silent thank you to him, and he may be able to read my thoughts, because he gives a friendly nod in my direction as we pass him. It's discrete, but there. I return it. That may be the last one I ever give.

Me and Jerome both sit in silence. Nobody comes, not even our dad. But, when I thought about it, it wasn't really surprising. From what I've heard, our mother was a prostitute who died of starvation. All three of us kept it quiet; it wasn't really something to go bragging about.

Soon, the train arrives which will take us to the Capitol. This will be the first impression that we will get of Haymitch and Effie hands-on, and the same the other way around. I find that I'm slightly nervous. I've heard that the train can go up to 200 miles an hour, and I'm not really built for speed. But – and I punish myself internally for this – I find that I'm also slightly excited. This will be the one shot I can get at living a life of ease… or as close as I can get, going into the Games.

"Come on! The Capitol is going to _adore_ you two!" Effie squeals in that annoying accent of hers, "You'll be a HUGE hit!"

It takes all of my willpower to announce that I don't give a damn what the Capitol thinks of me, thank you very much. Looking at Jerome, I can see he's having familiar thoughts. "Jerome," I whisper. He turns to me, slightly red in the face. I carry on, "we need to stick together, throughout all of this. Stay with me, please. I- I don't know what I'd do without you…"

He stops me, "you'd be one depressed kid." He hands me a stack of playing cards. How he managed to steal them in thirty seconds, I can't figure out. But it doesn't matter. For the first time since we started walking to the Reaping, my face lights up. Cards. Actual, real life, playing cards. It gives me a feeling of home. Not like I was in District Twelve, that will never feel like home. But in this fantasy that I created for myself with nothing but my imagination and 52 pieces of paper. I sometimes even surprise myself with how insane I can become.

"T-thank you, but _how_?"

"One never reveals one's secrets if one is to stay mysterious."

"One is becoming a pain in the butt right now."

"One doesn't really care."

I proceed to smack myself on the forehead with my free hand. It's at this moment that Haymitch decides to stroll into the carridge, alchohol and all.

"Already sick of him, darling? I would be if I was his sister, too."

Me and Jerome both speak at the same time, "How much _exactly_ did you hear?"

"Enough," he takes another huge gulp of the spirit. Whatever it is, it's giving him the most glazed expression in the history of glazed expressions. He could be tied upside-down above an active volcano right now, and he'd have no idea. But of course, he's _not_ above a volcano right now, he's on a moving train that's on it's way to the Capitol to bring in it's new shipment of Dead Meat, so there's no real reasoning behind the thought. "So. You two got chosen. Talk about the odds not being in your favor."

I almost laugh, "The only people the odds like are the Careers. They get to grow up with three decent meals. We're not exactly trained assassins, in case you didn't notice. We're starving teenagers being held against our will, forced to fight to the death for others' amusement."

Haymitch whistles. "Too soon, okay? Tone down the realness level about twenty notches."

It's Jerome's turn to smack himself in the head. Not only do we have one mentor between us, but he's reached the most physical human peak possible when it comes to being stupid. How he won the Games, I have no idea.

All three of us manage to stay silent until Effie comes in a few hours later. "You kids go get some rest, tomorrow is a big, big day!"

So I do that. And by the time I wake up to Effie's "It's going to be a big, big day!" I only just have time to wash my face and put some clothes on before we arrive in the Capitol.

I let out a small "Wow," as I step into the main carriage and look out of the window. It looks like something straight out of a cartoon; the colours too vibrant, the expressions too happy, the feeling too _wrong_. I know that even if I was born here, I would have trouble fitting in. I don't really look at the glass half full, if you're that kind of person.

Jerome sulks away from the window as soon as he hears the people cheering, and I follow suit not long after. Their excited, they can't wait to watch us die, their putting money on how we'll go out of this world. What sort of twisted lies and propaganda the government of the Capitol is telling them to keep every single one interested, I can't imagine. But, yet again, I'd rather them get shipped off to the arena than me. I guess I don't have a choice in that matter.

In no time we're off the train, we've met our prep team and I've been stripped of all hair except for what's on my head. My skin feels sore but I didn't feel much pain, actually. I just sit in nervous anticipation, naked, for my stylist to come and fetch me. I leave my robe off because the chances are he'll want to get a good look at me.

A slow thirty minutes pass before I hear a door opening and my stylist walks in. He might be about twenty, and he's just wearing a black shirt and jeans. He's a slim build, not wearing and makeup except for some silver eyeliner. It makes him seem more human than anyone I've seen in the Capitol so far, but that isn't really saying much.

"Hello, Willow. I'm Leonidas, and I'll be your stylist for this year's Games." His voice doesn't have the Capitol's twang, but there's something in there that makes him sound Western.

"Hello, I'm Willow," I mentally slap myself in the face, "you… you already knew that…"

"It's OK to be nervous. I'm slightly on edge now, this is my first year. We can learn together."

"Okay…" I ventured, whilst thinking, _where is he going with this?_

"If you could just stand up for me… like that, head up… thank you…"

He circles me for a few awkward minutes. I just stare blankly ahead, trying not to blush. Occasionally he'll mutter "Yes…" or "That's the stuff…" but no other sound escapes his lips, until, "Okay, grab your , please and let's talk. I want to see your opinion on this."

Well, that's a first. I hastily put my robe on and follow him into another room. He sits down in a chair and motions for me to do the same on another one opposite him. I do as he wants, and wait for him to speak.

"As you know, it is compulsory for your costume to reflect your district."

"Mhm." _I'm going to be naked._

"And you mine coal." _Naked and covered in black._

"Where do you mine coal? In a mine. Without light, mines are very _dark_."

My lip curls upwards into a smile and I narrow my eyes. "Are you going where I think you're going, Leonidas?"

"Yep."

 **A/N: Second Chapter out, phew. It came out later than I thought it would, because I had trouble coming up with an idea for Willow's chariot costume. So, what do you think it's going to be? And, what are your thoughts on Leonidas? What kind of person do you think he is, is he more of a Snow or a Caesar Flickerman?**

 **Remember: One review probably means I'll scream with happiness in the middle of the night and wake up everyone in my street, so why not submit one?**


	3. The Chariot

**A/N: I'd just like to say thank you to the users Pokemon67, 66samvr and SweetLoveOfMine for taking the time to review! You three have been the people who motivated me to carry on writing. Thanks so much, and I hope ya'll enjoy this next chapter!**

It takes me a while to fully comprehend what I'm wearing. But, I have a two-worded defence for why:

It's amazing.

I'm wearing a full black bodysuit, with black eyeliner, black nail polish and a black cape that sways in the lightest breeze. But what I like most are what Leonidas called 'LED's'.

"These things turn on with a flip of a switch," he told me, once I had put my costume on, "They're little lights that are meant to represent lanterns. I think you'll like it."

He was wrong. I _loved_ it. They are small, yellow, and glowed like a little candle that we'd have to light to see back home. They twinkle as if they're stars in the night sky, which I just see as a bonus. Because of the wiring, they stick out a little, which gives my overall costume a 3-D effect: a real-life image copied and pasted onto a tribute. Leonidas also sprinkled my cape with small pieces of silver and gold glitter, so it looks like I'm wearing space on my back, carrying the shield of darkness with me wherever I may go. It calms me.

"Oh my…" is the only thing I can say when one of my prep team turns the light of and I cast the room in a dim shadow, shimmering in the lack of light. I can't help but smile when I see the effect it's pulled off. It makes me look beautiful. Passive. Harmless. It's _perfect_.

It's all I can do not to break into the largest smile the world has ever seen in front of the other tributes, waiting for the time when we will ride out. Leonidas must have talked to Jerome's stylist, because he is in a similar costume, save two features: a black fedora perched delicately on his head, and a black bow-tie, which he straightens as he comes striding towards me. Both sprinkled with small amounts of glitter. I can see the places where his LED's are poking ever so slightly out of his costume.

"You should hear the conversations about these things," he says, tipping the fedora in my direction. I make some sort of happy noise that would probably be more at home in a pig, but I motion for him to continue; donning his hat, he does, "I heard my stylist fretting over which shade of black to use for the strip."

It sounds a bit more human this time, but it's still not quite there yet. I surprised myself at how much fun I was having, despite the lingering promise of death that held under the tributes for District 12 each year. I guess I was just desperate to cling to anything that might make my life and death in the arena more enjoyable.

The chariot ride passes by in a blur. I remember snippets of silence, applause which rung out from either side of us, waving at the crowd and clutching Jerome's hand. I was already seeing stars at the sheer number of people we were riding out to. I was never built for humans generally, but this took it to a whole new level.

I forgot to turn my LED's off when I left the chariot, so Leonidas strolls over to me and gently flicks it off, giving him time to whisper into my ear, "You did great,"

The only answer that came into my head was, "Really? I thought I was going to faint when we rode out."

"So did half the crowd; they loved you."

"They loved your costume. I was just modelling it."

"And who better to do that than you?"

He walked away, leaving me to ponder the question for a long time, trying to find meaning, some sort of hidden message within the compliment. But before long, I decided that I needed my beauty sleep if I was going to do any detective work.

Doesn't everybody?

 **Another A/N: I know this one is short, but I wanted to get it out** ** _so_** **badly. Next chapter will hopefully be longer, I'm going to give myself a break in which to hopefully update my other fanfic, which I kind of abandoned. Whoops :b.**

 **~MPP**


	4. The Avoxes

I grasped at the cup, savouring the flavour within it, looking nowhere in the dining hall but at the rim of it. After the chariot ride, we were directed inside and sent straight to bed, being told to order anything we wanted in our rooms. Usually we'd sit, watch a re-cap of the rides and eat dinner whilst congratulating the stylists, but we didn't have time. Something to do with the District 9 train being late after it broke down, which slowed the whole schedule and created a disaster (according to Effie). Oh well, I was more than happy to get some sleep after I almost fainted on the chariot from stage fright. I have no idea how I'll do in the interview; I might find myself gripping onto Caesar Flickerman's chair for support.

I'm alone at the breakfast table, but it's no surprise, really. It's about 6:00am and nobody but me seems to feel the need to get up early. Again, I'm fine with being left alone. Only I'm not alone: the Avoxes are watching me.

I don't notice them at first, they're just there to do their job, right? But, seeing as I'm the only other living creature in the room, they all stand and stare at me, heads cocked slightly to the side as if looking at a mildly interesting TV programme over somebody's shoulder. It's their eyes that creep me out the most, they seem to be… defeated. They still worked as eyes; they still moved and blinked and saw, but it was like whoever – or whatever – was behind their pupils had died a long time ago. Which I guess they had, in a way.

I gulped and pushed my not-eaten plate of food away from me. Since the Avoxes-are-staring-at-you-like-they-want-to-possess-you moment (which was still happening, sending a familiar chill up my spine), I had a sudden, unexpected loss of my appetite. Sighing and resolving to the worst, I got up and walked back to my room, too uncomfortable for anywhere else. There was no way I'd face another Avox before I absolutely had to.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I focused on my breathing. Slow, equal breaths. They can't hurt me, right? They'd be killed. Or maybe they think that death would be better than serving the tributes. Better than never being able to speak again. Or I may remind them of the person who cut their tongue out; from what I've heard it is the same person for a whole generation.

 _You're overthinking it again_ , my brain tells me. The voice inside sounds slightly exasperated. _It's just you_. I could only hope that it was right.

Too restless to sit still, I paced my room eating an apple which I had ordered from the seemingly endless amount of food the Capitol had to offer. That and one square meal last night had taken it's toll; I could no longer count my ribs. I told myself that this was a good thing, that the Capitol was not changing me, that I'd be the same girl I always was. But, in the light of current events, even that seems too much to ask for.

The sun must have risen and the others must have gotten up, because the next thing I know, Effie is bursting into my room, practically screaming, "IT'S GOING TO BE A BIG, BIG DAY!" I'm about _this_ far from saying that I'll show her what a big, big punch in the face looks like before I stop myself. Not the best way to greet your escort. Instead, I just resolve to a grunt and she leaves, screeching all the way. If her plan is to wake every tribute in the center up, she's doing a good job of it.

The first thing I notice when I make my way down to breakfast is that Haymitch looks sober, which is unusual. He's looking at me, eyebrows raised in question. _What did you do now_? I realised that I hadn't wiped the look of unease off my face yet. In answer I just shake my head slightly, try to smile (and fail) and sit down at the table. Obviously, I don't help myself to food. I attacked more than enough fruit in my room.

Haymitch is the one to start conversation when Jerome and Effie sit down. "Right, you two." He looks at me and Jerome. "In thirty minutes, you need to make your way down to the training area. Effie –" he shot our escort a look "– will take you down there. What can you two do?"

The table is silent. Neither me or Jerome have ever so much as handled a butter knife, let alone one that can kill another human. But, there are some good things about living in District 12, after all…

"We've been living off roots our whole lives," I say, "we could easily tell the difference between edible and poisonous ones in the arena."

Haymitch let out a noise of exasperation, "it's a start. Down in the Training Centre, try and learn some more survival skills. Build a fire. Learn to hunt. Useful stuff like that."

We both just nodded, not daring to make a comment. However many addictions he may have, Haymitch has survived the arena, which must have taken skill. As well as this, he could be the difference between life and death for _us_ in the arena.

Soon the time came; Jerome, Effie and I were back in the elevator, waiting to arrive at the Training Centre. Effie was her usual chirpy self, hopping excitedly up and down, clicking those ridiculously long fingernails of hers together. It hit me, riding down to meet my opponents, how clueless Effie was. I didn't have much time to expand on that thought, however, because that's when the doors to the elevator slid open and the Training Centre waited for us. Along with everyone in it, by the looks of things.

"Well," I muttered under my breath, "time to find out who will be on our deathbeds with us."

 **A/N: Finally got my NYSM fanfic updated and I'm kinda proud of it, even if it is a little short. You guys probably won't be seeing as much of me because I'm devoting all of my spare time to Worrying over The Dreaded GCSE Options *le gasp* and coding on Unity. I'll still try and write on the bus to and from school, though. But I'm glad this FINALLY got out. Happy Reading!**

 **~MPP**


	5. The Training

Only a few of the tributes we saw actually stuck in my head. A brutal boy with a stocky build from 1. A sly looking female from 4. A shrivelled, small girl from 7. I learned later on that their names were Shamrock, April and Johanna respectively. Both Shamrock and April looked capable of much more than child murder. I don't really know why Johanna lingered in my mind, but she was there to stay, I guess.

After the instructor gave us what seemed like an automated message: _Don't fight with other tributes, blah blah blah, staff on hand, more sh*t that you guys apparently need to know_ , we were free to use the training area to their fullest extent.

Jerome stuck with me the whole time, which I was grateful for. I felt like a friendly face would be exactly what I needed to get me through my metaphorical Tomb of Horrors. He slid up to me and asked, "so. Where do we go first?"

"Let's do what Haymitch asked us to do." I say, "he won the Games, after all, and however stupid he may seem, nobody wins the Games by pure fluke."

So we end up making our way to the fire building station. The staff member there looks happy to see us, which is an understatement. You get a feeling as you watch the Carrier tributes throw maces around that this station isn't really the most popular. The trainer was friendly enough, and showed us how to build a fire that won't send up as much smoke as a normal one would. By the time we left the station two hours later, we've already decided to make our way to the edible plants station, which turned out to be a big success. We even manage to beat the tributes from Eleven with our knowledge over poisonous berries. We'd never had meat in our lives until we came to the Capitol, so it was really no surprise to either of us when we both passed it without blinking an eye.

But then, inevitably, the time came for us to find our weapons. The things we would use to _kill_ other children. I always said the Capitol was twisted, and this was no exception.

All the Carriers were there, obviously. They wouldn't pass up the opportunity to have some down time with their favourite killing mechanisms. We made our way timidly over to the station, trying not to be spotted by the others. They did see us eventually, but they didn't do anything. We weren't a threat to them, just more pawns standing in the way of the king, that the knights can dispose of. Because that's all we are to them, to everyone in the Capitol, in the Games. Pawns. Disposable.

I sometimes wonder if there are enough pawns to overthrow the king. But the answer is almost always the same: _No chance_.

We were not the best in the 'killing' station, not by a long shot, but we found what we were… for want of another word… _okay_ at. I didn't like to think of myself as a _good_ killer, but then again, we had to be, if we wanted to win. Which I wasn't sure I wanted to be. But, I found that it was easy for me to hold a sword in my hand and deliver a fatal blow. Jerome, surprisingly and after many attempts at finding a weapon, headed towards the _axe_. And he could actually _kill people_. With an _axe_! Out of all the things… an _axe_ … You could see it in his eyes that he wasn't happy with his weapon, but it was all he had to work with. It was all we _both_ had to work with. Because there was no way I was leaving him behind.

The rest of the training sessions passed in the same manner. Until the time came, just then, to find out what we had truly learned. The skills we would be taking to our grave.

It was time to face the Gamemakers.

 **A/N: Jesus, I haven't opened this Word Document in** ** _ages_** **! My excuse is that I found out about Darkstache (shout out to you if you know what I'm talking about!) and I kind of drowned in the Tumblr headcannons (also the Host adopting a cat… AHHHHHHH). Buuuuuuuuut I wrote this during English when I had nothing better to do because it was just silent reading. Will try to update more often, but there's no guarantee that Tumblr won't drag me down even more… :b**

 **~MPP**


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